


Aether

by Himmelreich



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Gen, the usual things you have to deal with as the resident victim of Catharsis™ in a Urobutcher series, warning: drowning & shooting & panic attacks are discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[follow-up to episode 7] <i>He had once overheard a fellow cadet say to another that drowning was the most horrible way to die. In retrospect, with how drowning was such a rare concept to the Vers citizens, it surely had to have been cynical karma at work, he thought, that he had almost managed to drown upon first coming to this foreign planet. Drowning in the very liquid that had been his life support during the journey, too, as if to add insult to injury. Sometimes he himself wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the accumulation of irony in his life.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Aether

He had once overheard a fellow cadet say to another that drowning was the most horrible way to die. Not that it was a very common cause of death on Vers, where water was a relatively rare substance and the planet wasn't covered in seemingly abysmal, endless oceans. It was something the cadet had heard one of their elders say, those who had still experienced life on Earth, before the colonization, exodus and war.

( _"You know, they once saved a veteran soldier from drowning back in the day, and he said in comparison, a gunshot to the stomach was almost pleasant."_  
"No way, you've got to be kidding me! Everyone knows stomach wounds are the worst!"  
He himself had so far not been shot in the gut, so he hadn't been sure what to make of that comparison. Then again, he had no interest in partaking in the conversation, anyway. Being silent and low-key, he had learned, was the best way to avoid the constant insults and bullying from the Martian soldiers.)

In retrospect, with how drowning was such a rare concept to the Vers citizens, it surely had to have been cynical karma at work, he thought, that he had almost managed to drown upon first coming to this foreign planet. Drowning in the very liquid that had been his life support during the journey, too, as if to add insult to injury. Sometimes he himself wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the accumulation of irony in his life.

As with most unpleasant and painful experiences, his body had tried to eradicate the exact memory of the incident - if he had tried to recall the sensation, he had only felt a vague feeling of dread surging up from inside like ice cold, pitch black, foul well water, stopping his further attempts at recollection short. It did not come back to haunt him randomly during the day or in his dreams at night, though, for which he was ever grateful. 

There had been the one incident in his first year, however, where his partner in combat training had slammed him onto the ground hard enough to paralyze his breathing for seconds that stretched into an eternity, and for this short moment, the memory had crashed onto him like a tidal wave, submerging him completely, and he had been sure that this time, he would die for sure, the feeling too intense to let him register the lack of actual water, blacking out everything remotely tied to reason, until, _until_ \---

(Some memories lost their intensity over time, coming back to mind only as a pale and watered-down shadow of the actual event, leaving you more with the knowledge that it happened, once, in the past, than with an actual feeling to go with it.  
Not this one.)

If it had not been for his personal ray of hope managing to get through his sudden throwback, he would without a doubt have succumbed to a panic attack that would probably have rendered him unconscious. But he had remembered - the feeling of air flowing back into his lungs (not the feeling of disgorging water so convulsively his entire body shook), the feeling of warm hands holding his face steady (not the feeling of having lost every bit of strength and being unable to so much as lift a finger), the sight of those kind eyes and that wonderful smile (not the memory of black nothingness encroaching his vision from all sides), a kiss of life that didn't feel like a kiss at all, and her. 

The angry shouting of their instructor had not really reached through to him, but he had felt his breathing evening out, the throbbing, sharp pain in his back a welcome reminder of how drowning was only a distant memory now, and he had opened his eyes and stood up, apologizing for dropping his guard in such a shameful manner in a voice he had hardly recognized as his own, and had kept practicing until the session was over, because what else could he have done?

(He hadn't been quite sure if it could be called irony as well, that the Princess seemed so very fascinated by this element he had come to fear, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the shimmering blue surface, uncountable shades of blue, green and black, depths that threatened to swallow you whole while from above looking like a blanket mercifully cast over the ugly deformed landmasses Heaven's Fall had left behind. Still, he had told her about the vast water world of Earth patiently again and again, because she had saved him from drowning, and continued doing so, even when it had not been water that was threatening to suffocate him.)

\--------------  
The moment he fell, he didn't remember anything at all.  
\--------------

The impact on the water's surface was enough to knock the breath right out of his lungs, what little was left coming out in small white clouds in the sudden cold surrounding him from every side. He could feel the bruises forming beneath where the security belts had caught his fall, and he tasted blood in his mouth, his teeth hurting from clacking together hard enough to leave his entire jaw aching, his head a single cluster of white hot pain. The initial shock left a buzzing of incoherent thoughts in its wake - betrayed, he had been betrayed, the pilot of the orange Kataphrakt had never so much as intended to trust him, he was all the more set on killing him, he was going to die here, he was going to die just hundreds of meters away from the Princess, he was going to die, and she was---  
 _"If she were to be taken advantage of, would that bother you?"_  
Through the encroaching fog of numbing pain, a single thought snapped him back into reason and reality.  
"I _won't_ , I _won't let you!_ "

With a deep inhale he blinked multiple times, the world shifting back into focus around him. The flickering blue light of his dashboard instruments cast an eerie glow in the darkness all around him. Above him, the waves had already all but devoured the little starlight that broke through the surface, and the Sky Carrier was sinking deeper and deeper, still. And in that moment, he noticed something else. It was trickling down his neck, ice cold and steadily, it was flowing down the windshield in small rivers, clearing up the fog his fast breathing had formed on the cold glass, it was squeezing through tiny cracks in the hull into the cockpit, it was pooling at the bottom of the cabin, already reaching up to his ankles.  
Water. The Sky Carrier was leaking.  
For a moment, he felt nothing but utter disbelief. _You've got to be joking, this can't be happening-_  
Then, with a dreadfully final thump, the aircraft hit the ocean floor. 

He thought his heart had either stopped beating or was going so fast he couldn't feel it as his body desperately struggled to come up with some more adrenaline, not that there should be anymore left after a day of escaping, torturing, fighting, and having to make decisions on the spot, decisions that were essential to the Princess' and his own survival (and he had been wrong, so wrong). His head felt as if it was spinning as the water slowly crept up his legs. If he stayed here, he would drown ( _-did you know drowning is the most horrible way to die?_ ) and no-one would be left to protect the Princess. And that, he would never allow to happen.

If anything, the training he had received at the hands of the Vers Army had been thorough, and even as the panic seemed to weigh down on his body like tons of weight, he could feel his mind clear up. _Think logically, think logically, what is the first thing to do after a crash-_  
The lights inside the cockpit were still glowing, he realized, consciously this time, and he tried the engine command - nothing. Sky Carriers were built do withstand entry into the atmosphere and aerial battles, not for underwater combat, figures. ( _How shortsighted_ , he thought, _to wage war on a planet covered in water with machines unable to withstand it._ )  
Next step. Emergency propulsion, designed to create a last opportunity to get away. He enters the command, the engine system giving a sad, gargling sound, then falling silent. The orange Kataphrakt's ninth and final bullet, it had without a doubt found its aim as flawlessly as those before.  
Next step. Bail Out. Again, a system built for escaping a Sky Carrier falling from the sky, not diving out from beyond the ocean - the parachute was sure to drown him rather than save him. No point in staying strapped in it, then, he thought, bringing up his hands, trembling with exhaustion, pain and cold, to unfasten the various belts. With the aircraft having landed on uneven, rocky ground, it lay tilted towards its nose, and as soon as he got rid of the final belt, he felt himself fall forward, barely able to brace himself on the dashboard before entirely tripping over, the water now up to his knees and still dripping from above him like rain. (Something he had always missed on Vers, the feeling of summer rain on a hot day, the feeling of heavy cold rain promising snowfall soon to come in winter, but there was no comfort in it this time.)  
Next step. Opening the hatch, surviving the water flowing in, swimming to the surface. He had been shot down in the comparatively shallow waters near the coast, he could do it, escape, find a way to infiltrate the battleship the Princess was in, tell her about all that had happened, save her- His mind was leaping from hypothetical scenario to hypothetical scenario as his fingers worked on the dashboard, entering the opening command, but all he got in response was the screen tauntingly telling him that there was _outer pressure on the hatch, do not open_ , and he thought he might just as well break into hysterical laughter right there.

Next step. _Next step_ \- His gun, he thought in a frenzy, at the same time the part of his brain formed by years of training and teachings reminded him that the bullets would ricochet from the bulletproof safety glass and probably end up killing him in the process ( _-in comparison, a gunshot to the stomach was almost pleasant_ ). And the bullets, he would need them after the escape, he would need them to save the Princess and repay the ones abusing her power in kind. 

(Only a few days ago, he had not been sure if he ever could shoot another human being, training be damned, and now there he was, a fugitive traitor and murderer wanted by the Vers Empire, made a fool of and almost killed by his own people. In only a few days his life had toppled over and turned full circle in the most absurd fashion. Once again he was alone, on the brink of drowning, only this time there was no use in hoping for a convenient miracle, he had to get out of this himself.)

 _Next step._ If the electronics fail, open the hatch manually.  
He would never have expected to ever be this grateful to his extended training as he was in this situation, of the fact that his instructors had insisted on him learning the basics of making emergency repairs and doing maintenance on the Sky Carrier as well as merely piloting it. The water was already halfway up his thighs, drenching the heavy cloth of his uniform, as he felt around in the dim blueish light for the latches and bolts needed to open his escape route. The wet and cold metal felt strange to his hands still clad in soaked gloves, and the light was hardly enough to make out any detail. _Work from memory_ , he told himself, _you have done this before in practice, there is no reason why it should not work_. The water was already up to his hips when he finally found the last bolt keeping the cockpit closed off to the water outside. The routine work had calmed him down, the cold had numbed the pain, and for one last time, he took a deep breath, leaned back, and then threw his entire weight against the glass dislodge it. 

The blue lights flickered and died in the same moment as the water rushed in.

\--------------  
The moment the ocean swallows him up, he remembers.  
\--------------

It takes precious time and breath to actually climb out of the flooded wreckage in the darkness and silence that now envelops him entirely, his soaked clothing and exhaustion pulling him down like iron chains wrapped around his body, his chest feeling as if it could burst every moment while at the same time it feels as if his lungs would cave in. Everything in him screamed _just open up your mouth and breathe, breathe, breathe_ , but he remembers, vividly now, the feeling of water where there was supposed to be air, his entire body screaming in pain and panic at the foreign, heavy feeling in his throat, and he clenches his mouth shut tightly and pushes himself off the solid metal of the sunken ship.

The water is viscous and heavy around him like tar, and for every stroke he swims upwards, he feels as if he's being pulled an equal length back down. There is a thrumming noise in his ears, deafening and nauseating, and he knows it's his own pulse racing, every single fiber of his body screaming in protest at the exertion and lack of air, and he knows that he has to hurry up before he _will_ open his mouth again, he _will_ breathe in the water, and he _will_ die in this place. The salty cold water stings in his eyes as he slowly makes for the surface, that faint reflection of starlight in all this darkness, but he can't close them, he has to keep his entire focus only on this patch of light, if he could make it up to there, if he could breathe again, he would be safe, he would be saved, this time, again.

He can feel the movement of the waves stronger now, indicating that he's almost made it to the surface, a sudden feeling of insane enthusiasm coming over him at the same time as he hears a strange ringing sound in his ears, sees his vision slowly narrowing, every movement suddenly feeling as if executed in slow motion, and he remembers, he remembers this sensation right before passing out, and he's desperately pleading to his own treacherous body _not yet, only a little father, just a little, I'm almost there, just a little_ -  
The words leave his mouth with the last bit of held breath, the taste of salt water heavy on his tongue, and then, there is nothing.

(Maybe it had been the pendant's power that had saved him back then, had made her find him at the exact right moment and rescue him. Maybe it had been the pendant's power that had prevented her assassination. Maybe it would be able to continue protecting her when now, he would no longer be able to do so, support her where he had failed to. It was not for his sake that he had even tried to fight and not just given up, it was for hers, had only ever been for hers.  
 _I'm sorry._ )

What sensation was the first to make it through the darkness, he doesn't know. There is a sudden and repeated pressure on his chest, and then there is a horrible throbbing feeling in his throat. When he opens his mouth to breathe, there is water in his mouth, in his throat, in his entire body, and he convulses in a violent coughing fit. He's vaguely aware that someone pulls him up closer into a half sitting position instantly, arms tight around his chest as he threatens to collapse forward and coughs, coughs, _coughs_ , thinking he probably would be spitting out chunks of his lungs every moment now, his entire body shaking with the fits and the cold. But air, there's _air_ \- each breath he takes in between feels raw and painful and amazing, and despite being drenched in cold water from head to toe he can feel the hot trails of tears on his face, from coughing or from relief, he can't even say.

When the seizures finally subside, he can hear distant commotion and yelling over his labored breathing, but the words don't make any sense to him. He slowly opens his eyes, the lids feeling heavy and swollen, and finds himself staring at the sea from slightly above, solid wall of the mole beneath him. And he can see the arms now (green sleeves, almost black and dripping with water, black fingerless uniform gloves, hands not larger than his own), the single thing that keeps him from keening over and plunging back into the depths of the ocean, and he is suddenly almost painfully aware of the person crouching behind him. In the very same moment, one of the arms draws back in a swift movement and just a second after that, he feels a sudden cold pressure against the back of his neck, the other arm still holding him close in a mock-embrace.  
"Don't move or I will shoot."  
He knows that feeling of cold steel well enough.  
And he knows that voice.

In the hazy fog that still clouds his mind, the things he want to say drift in a stream of jumbled pieces, so many things he wants to ask and yet he can't seem to grab hold of it.  
 _Why did you shoot me down?_  
 _What are you going to do to the Princess?_  
 _What are you planning?_  
 _What side are you on?_  
 _Who are you?_  
 _ **Why did you save me?**_

When he opens his mouth, it takes him a few attempts to produce any sound at all, the person behind him waiting patiently, releasing the grip neither on him nor on the weapon. When he finally manages to speak, his voice sounds foreign and hoarse to his ears.

"I'm... not your enemy."

**Author's Note:**

> Two more days until the preview for the next episode comes out /wheezes  
> Will Slaine's suffering streak end anytime soon...  
>  ~~(Apologies for the mess of tenses and style, I don't know what exactly happened here, either.)~~


End file.
